A Matter of a Trust
by owlcroft
Summary: When the talk gets tough, the tough start decorating.


A/N: My response to the mistletoe-trust Christmas story challenge. Thanks, L.M., for the editing!

A MATTER OF A TRUST

by

Owlcroft

Hardcastle looked down at the large cardboard box on the clinic coffee table, then glanced over at McCormick wrestling the string of lights out of their packaging. "You gonna check for dead bulbs before you put those up?"

"Nah. I just want to get 'em hung, then I'll look. Easier that way." McCormick shook his head over the mess, but began patiently disentangling.

"That's backwards, but if that's the way you wanna do it . . . " The judge leaned down and took a glittery gold garland from the box. "This goes over Joyce's desk, right?"

Mark nodded, tongue between his teeth as he nearly dropped the loop of lights. "Yeah. The brads are still up there from last year."

There was a brief silence as the decorating got under way. Then the judge spoke again.

"There's a manger scene in here. Where'd that go last year?" He picked up a small plastic shepherd.

"Um, I'm not sure we put that out." McCormick took a break from hanging lights and swearing under his breath. "Didn't we decide it wasn't politically correct to set it up?"

Hardcastle pondered that, taking out a sheep and a Joseph and placing them next to the shepherd on the coffee table. "Hmm. I think we ended up putting it in the break room. Nobody saw it but us and some of the pro bonos."

Mark plugged in the lights and winced when they didn't go on. "I was afraid of that." He sighed and pulled the plug out again. "Yeah, that's right. You wanna take a chance and put it out here this year?" He cast a glance over his shoulder at the older man.

"Yeah, I do," was the determined response. "I'm tired of all this stuff about not saying 'Merry Christmas'. 'Happy Holidays' and "Seasons Greetings' just don't cut it for me." He started arranging the plastic figurines around a small manger. "I used to tell Charlie Friedman 'Happy Hanukkah' every year, but nowadays even _that's _probably a no-no. Sad, isn't it?" he asked rhetorically.

McCormick stopped his intent examination of the lights to look around again and nod. "Yeah, but it is kinda understandable. It's just that everybody got a little carried away with being . . . polite, I guess."

"Ah, polite my sweet Aunt Fanny. People just go overboard with stuff all the time. They got no sense, that's all." Hardcastle placed a final lamb in just the right spot and looked in the box for the next item to hang or display. "Hah, there's the wreath for my office door! Hey, speaking of that PC hooha, I didn't tell you I saw Frank the other day."

"Oh, yeah? He and Claudia still coming over to your place next week, right?" Mark finished checking for loose bulbs and tried plugging them in again. Still no lights.

Hardcastle stepped back from hanging his wreath and examined it critically, then made a trifling adjustment to the bow. "Oh, sure. They'll be there all right. But he was telling me about decorating the station this year. You know what he said?" Another tiny wreath adjustment back the other way. "One of the sergeants brought in some mistletoe and wanted to put it up over the door to the lunchroom, but then some lieutenant made waves about it. Said some of the female cops might object. Frank told the sergeant to go ahead and put it up and he'd probably get more complaints from the male cops when _they_ were pounced on. How 'bout that for being politically correct?"

"Sounds fair to me," said Mark distractedly. "What the he–" he broke off suddenly, looking at the manger scene. "Sorry," he apologized. "What in the world is the problem, here?"

The judge went back to unpacking decorations, removing a pair of cinnamon-scented candles and placing them on Joyce's desk. "We could just buy a new set of lights," he suggested as McCormick started replacing bulbs, one by one.

"I thought you were the guy always preaching about not wasting money. And that brings up something I wanted to talk to you about." Mark flexed his fingers and scowled at the lights. "We're doing well enough here that I really think you ought to go on salary, Judge. You're spending twenty-five hours a week down here, on average."

"Huh-uh. I'm strictly pro bono." Hardcastle put the red wicker sleigh on the top of the bookcase opposite the door and rummaged for the small pine cones that were supposed to fill it. "We've talked about this already, and it's settled, okay?"

McCormick put his hands on his hips and glared mildly. "Just like that. No discussion?"

"We already discussed it plenty, ya know. You're not gonna change my mind by bringing it up every few months. Huh. There's seeds falling out of these pine cones." The judge peered inquisitively into the one he held in his hand.

"I just wish you'd take some kinda ... honorarium of something. Twenty bucks a month, huh?" Once more McCormick plugged in the string of lights and once more they didn't work. He sighed and unplugged them again.

"Hey, my wife's name is over the door, doncha think that's worth more than any money in the world to me?" Hardcastle waved a hand toward the front, then stared into the decorations box. "Where'd _this _come from?" He plucked up an item and held it out on his palm.

"Oh, the Donald Duck Santa? I think somebody gave Joyce that last year."

"It's a travesty." The older man frowned and threw it into the wastebasket.

"Hey, Matt'll love that!" Mark abandoned the lights to retrieve the small avian Santa and put it in his pants pocket.

"Listen, talking about money and salaries and stuff . . ." There was a pause. "And Matt . . . you know, the next generation and all . . . "

McCormick grinned at him as he headed back to figure out the lights from the bad place. "You finally gonna tell me about the trust?"

Hardcastle stared at him. "How the Sam Hill did you know about _that_?"

There was a definite twinkle in McCormick's eye, but none from the lights. "I saw the envelope on your desk. You think I don't know Scott Williamson's field? So," he stared thoughtfully at an unopened bag of replacement bulbs, "tell me about it."

"Well, I got to thinking about how expensive it is just to maintain the estate – you know, taxes and repairs and all the maintenance stuff – and I talked to Scott about it and he said a trust was the answer. Now, let me talk for a bit." The judge held up a hand to forestall comments. "I know you're gonna have objections, but listen to me for a minute." He picked up a snow globe and shook it thoughtfully. "You know I've got nobody else to leave the place to, and I don't want to hear any more arguments from you about it. Remember, a few years ago, I said something and you got all huffy at me." He bent a stern gaze on the younger man, then resumed. "And, even though you and Kathy are making decent money now, especially since she went back to work full-time once Matt was in school, that's not gonna be enough to pay all the bills out there."

Mark nodded, obeying the injunction to stay silent.

"So, I talked to Scott about putting enough in a trust to take care of it, and he said no problem." Hardcastle shook the snow globe again, watching the blizzard gradually settle around Rudolph. "It takes care of inheritance taxes, too, and there's all kind of other benefits to it." He set the globe down and tried for an air of nonchalance. "So, all we need to do now is have everybody sign it and then it's all taken care of." He flipped a hand, nonchalantly.

McCormick leaned against the wall, lights dangling from one hand. "Let me see if I've got this straight. You're gonna leave me and Kath the estate and put some money in a trust to cover the expenses of the place and you're thinking I'm gonna start yelling at you about it, right?"

"Yeah." The snow globe was placed carefully on the shelf below the sleigh.

"Well, I'm _not_ gonna yell at you."

A surprised retired judge said, "No?"

"Nope. I think I kinda gave up that right when you became my son's grandpa." Mark gave up on the lights and dropped them into their box with a sigh. "But you know you do have blood relatives –cousins in Arkansas, and Gerry might still get married and have kids. I know you've thought about it, and I really do appreciate the thought and all–"

"I thought you just said you weren't going to yap about it?" Hardcastle leaned forward and picked up the string of lights.

"I'm not yapping about it. But it's an awful big deal, Judge." Mark folded his arms and looked at the lights with distaste.

Hardcastle studied the lights intently. "Well, it's not like you're gonna have to worry about it right away. I'm still good for another ten years or so."

"It better be more like twenty or thirty, Judge." McCormick picked up the box the lights had been stored in and looked for any clue the manufacturer might offer.

"You know, I did say you could call me 'Milt' these days," murmured Hardcastle in an abstracted tone.

"Everybody else does – Joyce, Kathy, Matt calls me Grandpa Milt."

Mark tossed down the box in annoyance. "Not yet. Maybe some day. It feels . . . weird somehow." He shrugged. "I give up, let's buy some new lights and donate these to the local trash can."

Milt frowned over the string a moment, then raised his head and looked at the wall behind the secretary's desk. "Didn't Joyce say something about an outlet that had stopped working?"

_finis_


End file.
